Our Own Demons
by FireMoon42
Summary: After the defeat of Thanos, Tony Stark has unfinished business to complete before he can find closure and go on with his life: he must confront his father. (Just ignore Endgame for this.)


**Our Own Demons**

 **AN: TW: mention of alcoholism. Shouldn't be too surprising? I thought I'd mention it anyway.**

 **. . . . .**

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Pepper said, squeezing Tony's shoulder.

Tony sat and stared into the distance, twisting the wedding band around his finger. His chest felt tight. He slouched his shoulders forward and dipped his chin so he could take a full breath before he answered, "I'm really not, but… if I don't, I'll just make myself crazy. I need to get this out of my head."

Aliens still bothered him, but the thought of them didn't fill every crack and crevice in his grey matter anymore. No, he had unfinished business that was much closer to home. It sat like a sea urchin in his brain, and he wanted to claw it out.

"Do you need me to wait for you?" Pepper's voice was soft. Worry shone in her eyes.

Tony hesitated for a moment, then nodded silently. Pepper was a grown woman and wouldn't have offered if she couldn't handle the emotional burden. Besides, Tony knew he shouldn't be alone after this. He had no idea what would happen.

"Okay. I'll be there when you're ready." She smiled, then bent and kissed his forehead. Tony watched her quietly leave the room, then climbed to his feet.

He looked around at the bare walls of the compound's B.A.R.F. room. Its technology had advanced by leaps and bounds since Bruce and the Princess joined him on the project. The program didn't need props to project onto anymore, like the piano he'd shown the MIT students what seemed like a lifetime ago; nanotech enhanced with vibranium took care of any physical objects it needed to create. But the real kicker wasn't sand sculpture furniture, it was the holographic people the AI could create. It collected information on a certain person, all the way from facts on the Internet to reading someone's memories—say, Tony's memories about his jackass of a father—and then reprogrammed that information into a responsive simulation.

 _Like the Holodeck!_ , Peter had exclaimed. Tony wasn't nearly as excited. After all, he was about to use the "Holodeck" to talk to his dad's ghost.

Tony took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He nodded to himself, his jaw set. "F.R.I.D.A.Y.? Let's roll."

When he opened his eyes, he was standing in the foyer of his parents' old mansion. Tony huffed. Where else? When he was very small, he'd lay on the plush red floor runner, playing with his cars as he waited for Dad to come home, hoping for his approval as Tony greeted him with a smile. But Dad was always grumpy, or tired, and Tony could never cheer him up, so he gave up trying. He learned to avoid the foyer and look busy when Dad came home. This was the last place he saw before he was shipped off to boarding school, Mom fighting back tears and enveloping him in hugs, Howard giving him a firm handshake, like nothing more than a business partner. This was where every showdown took place, every time Tony stormed out the door, only to come back hours later, shaking and full of shame, because no matter how bad Howard got, he couldn't leave Mom like that.

Tony turned his head and felt the blood drain out of his face. There stood the man himself, neat and proper with his grey mustache and his grey suit. Tony's mind went blank. For months he'd thought about what he was going to say to his father, played their conversation over in his head, but now as he stared into those dark eyes, his voice was stolen from him.

 _No._

This was not how it was going to be. Tony was done being made meek and timid. He was done catering to Howard's poker-faced shtick.

He squared his shoulders and looked Howard straight in the eye. "There's some things I need to say to you, _Dad_."

Howard raised his eyebrows, as if to say _then spit it out, I don't have all day_.

Tony fought the urge to look away and duck his head. "You were a real stone-cold bastard, you know that?" he said, advancing on Howard and jabbing a finger at his chest.

Howard scoffed. "Well, I'm sorry you feel that way. I didn't realize you needed coddling."

Tony was taken aback. " _Coddling?_ Is that what you think parenting is?"

"As if you would know about being a parent. You're just a washed-out tinkerer with self-esteem issues." Howard's steely gaze didn't waver.

"Actually, I would," Tony snarled, ignoring that last remark. It was a cheap shot. "I've been more of a parent in the last couple of years to a fatherless teenager than you ever were to your own damn son."

" _Parent to a fatherless teenager._ " Howard's voice was frosty. "Inflicting your, shall we say…bad habits on a random kid, more like."

They'd barely started and already Howard went _there_ …he knew just where to poke the sharp stick. A pit formed in Tony's stomach, and he clenched his jaw, fighting to keep his voice level. "No. Never." He shook his head. "Y'know, I was like you, I drank to cope when I got low. But I haven't touched a drop in years, because I recognized my mistakes and now I'm fixing them. That's something you could never do."

"I went through a war," Howard hissed.

"So did I, and that's no excuse!" _Afghanistan. Then aliens. Which led to Ultron. Which led to the Accords. Then the Mad Titan showed up…_ Everything flashed through Tony's mind in an instant and left him reeling. Howard had no right, no right at all, to blame his treatment of Tony on the war. "You were just too damn toxic to work through your issues and you took it out on me!"

"I raised you to be successful!"

Tony let out a bitter laugh and turned away. Anger and resentment welled in his chest, and he let it fuel him. "That's one way of putting it," he said, rounding on his father. "All I ever was to you was a project. 'What is wrong with you, Tony. Don't waste your time on nonsense. Be silent and look smart. Why did you embarrass me, Tony. Look, now you've made your mother upset.' I never got to be a damn kid!"

"Tony…" Howard's voice became infuriatingly calm. "You became a brilliant scientist in your own right and took Stark Industries far beyond anything I had ever achieved."

"Because that's all that matters to you, right?" Tony was suddenly horribly aware of how emotional he was getting. For a split second he wondered if he was overreacting, if this whole thing was a mistake, but he killed that thought. Howard wanted him to doubt himself, to crack and be silent, but he had every right to be as angry as he was. "Well, you even screwed that up. The path you set me on had me taken advantage of and turned into a weapons manufacturer. They called me the Merchant of Death."

"Don't blame me for your being a warmonger," Howard cut in coldly. "My wartime creations brought good into this world. Captain America was –"

"No," Tony snapped. "Do not talk to me about Rogers. All you did was give a little guy muscles so he could be used as war propaganda. Greatest creation, whatever. You don't get to take the credit for what he's done."

He knew he'd hit Howard's weak spot, because Howard put on what he must have thought was a sincere face. "Tony, look at the man you've become. My greatest creation was never Rogers. It was you."

A few years ago, Tony would have been softened up and disarmed by the slightest bit of affirmation from his father, but he'd grown since then. "Yeah, I saw the tape. I bet it felt real good on your conscience. You thought I'd see it one day and all would be forgiven? Newsflash, Howard, it wasn't enough!"

Howard's look of fake sincerity melted away. "What is it that you want?" he demanded, his voice marked with impatience.

Tony's chest tightened painfully as all his hurt and anger finally rose to the surface. "I just wanted a _dad!_ " he burst out, his voice cracking. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, but he quickly blinked them back. He would not give Howard the satisfaction of seeing him cry, not again. He gathered up his courage and looked the man straight in the eye. "You were never there for me. I couldn't trust you with anything, because I knew you'd use it against me.

"You made me feel worthless if I was ever anything but your perfect robot boy, and then when I got upset you told me to man up and deal with it on my own, or that I had no right to be, because we were so privileged, and you went through a war, after all. And it was never, ever your fault. When I was little I thought maybe you hated me, but as I got older I realized you just didn't care.

"The closest we ever came was when you showed approval of my achievements and my confused kid brain translated that into fatherliness. But really, we were practically strangers to each other. For God's sake, it was Jarvis who taught me how to shave! And then you have the nerve to call me your creation?"

Howard's face contorted in furious indignation. "It was my job to turn you into a man!"

"You didn't turn me into a man, you broke me down to scraps!" Tony roared back.

A ringing silence fell, punctuated only by Tony's harsh breathing.

At length, he spoke again, his voice low. "It took being stranded in a warzone and tortured in a cave to start making myself into my own person. Everything I am now, everything I'm proud to be, is of my own making. I'm my own man, no one else's, and certainly not yours.

"And you know what else? I'm done blaming myself for the way you treated me. I tried to reconcile with you like this before. Find closure. I told you that I believed you did the best you could. Hell, I even told you I loved you." Tony shrugged. "I guess my conscience couldn't take it that the last thing we ever did was fight. But it should never have fallen to me to try to clean up our mess of a relationship like that. So maybe you had the right ideas about, I don't know, technology, the future. But you were a horrible father, and I didn't deserve what you put on me. It wasn't my fault. You were the one who was wrong."

"If that is the way you feel, then you can leave," Howard said coolly.

Tony raised his eyebrows and spread his hands. "I don't need you anymore."

Then he turned his back and headed calmly toward the door. Without looking back, he opened it and left the mansion.

As he closed it, the simulation dissolved around him, leaving him staring at the blank walls of the B.A.R.F. lab. He breathed deeply, and it felt like the first breath of fresh air he'd taken in a long, long time.

Tony didn't know how long he stood there, staring at nothing, thinking about nothing, just breathing, before his knees suddenly buckled. He realized he was shaking. Exhaustion and pent-up emotions were taking their toll on him. He stumbled forward and sank to the floor with his back against the wall, his breathing quickening again. Every feeling he'd been fighting back came crashing through the barriers of his mind, and Tony knew he needed to let it all out or it would consume him. He drew his knees up to his chest, buried his face in his hands, and finally allowed himself a long overdue cry. These tears were not an evil.

. . . . .

Pepper shifted uncomfortably in the armchair and drummed her fingers, staring at the door. She'd started fretting twenty minutes ago—now Tony had been in there almost an hour and a half! Maybe she ought to peek in and make sure he was alright. He never noticed her when spied on him curiously in his lab, he would get so fixated.

She frowned and bit her lip. If Tony needed help, she couldn't wait for him to come out. Pepper rose and crossed to the door. She reached for the doorknob, jumping when it suddenly swung open. There stood Tony, his shoulders slumped, eyes distant and a little bit red.

"Tony?" Pepper said softly, taking his hand.

Tony's eyes focused on hers and the haunted look slowly faded from his face.

"Are you going to be okay?"

A hint of life returned to Tony's eyes. At length he whispered, "Yeah." Then he wrapped her in a tight hug.

Pepper breathed a sigh of relief and closed her eyes contentedly. Tony needed time to process what he had just accomplished, and she would be there for him every step of the way. And when she knew he was ready for it, she could tell him what she wanted to tell him—hopefully he wouldn't need _too_ long. Pepper smiled into his shoulder. She'd just have to discreetly avoid wine with dinner and Tony's suspicions for a little while. But he was going to be so, so happy.

 **. . . . .**

 **AN: So this was very cathartic to write. I hope you enjoyed!**


End file.
